


Five Times Captain Emma Swan Wanted a Different Chief Engineer (and One Time She Didn’t)

by owlinaminor



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starfleet Regulation 619: The commanding officer must relieve themself of command if their current mission leaves them emotionally compromised and unable to make rational decisions.  (According to Captain Emma Swan of the USS Storybrooke, this also applies to involvement in nonplatonic relationships with unfairly attractive Irish men, no matter how much so-called “chemistry” may exist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Captain Emma Swan Wanted a Different Chief Engineer (and One Time She Didn’t)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer not quite finished for a while, and I decided to post it tonight because 3x17 was a truly painful episode and AU's are (in my opinion) the best solution to painful things happening in canon.
> 
> Thanks to alchemystique for some beta-ing!
> 
> Also: this might become a series. I have a Frankenwolf companion piece in mind, as well as a possible Outlaw Queen piece. And possibly a Jim Kirk and Emma Swan being kids together fic, because reasons. Watch this space. (Or my ouat st au tag on Tumblr. Same difference.)

**i.**

“So, tell me about this engineer you found,” Emma says, more of a command than a suggestion as she power-walks her way to the cafe where her meeting is supposed to take place.  (And, okay, maybe she’s already in captain mode three weeks before her launch, but so many things have already gone wrong and she’s got to stay in control somehow.)

Belle shrugs, then scurries to keep up, lagging a little in her high heels.  “What do you want to know?”

“How you found him, why you think he’s good, is he at all insane, et cetera,” Emma replies.  “I’ve read his resume, but there’s only so much a list of statistics and glorified recommendation letters can do for a guy.”

“Oh, alright,” Belle says.  She thinks for a minute before continuing, “He’s definitely good, that’s for sure.  His resume doesn’t give him credit for it, but he almost single-handedly saved the Andromeda’s engines from exploding during the attack at Vulcan.  He helped Montgomery Scott develop his transwarp beaming theory for practical Starfleet application – supposedly, they’re friends, or rivals, I’m not sure.  Rumple – Gold absolutely _loathes_ him, which is usually a good indicator of a man’s competence ...”

She continues to describe assets of the man they’re about to meet as the two women hurry down the last half a block to the cafe.  Emma doesn’t catch much of it (she tends to tune Belle out when she talks for extended periods of time, which is probably a habit she should break out of, as the woman is her head of Communications and everything) except that the man is infamously dexterous with his fingers, although whether that has to do with engines or something else entirely, Emma isn’t sure.

The cafe is tiny, crowded, and understaffed – typical of cadet favorites.  Hot drinks dominate every table, clouding the air with scents of coffee, tea, and chocolate.  Most of the patrons are normal (if stressed-out) Starfleet cadets, in either their Academy reds or loose, comfortable civilian clothing, huddling over PADDs and debating theory.

One man stands out.

The leather coat is what she notices first.  It’s long, it’s dark, it’s clearly expensive, and it shouts, _I don’t give a fuck what you think_.  Its owner is no less impressive, though; he’s got these piercing, blue eyes, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut iron, and this mop of dark hair the perfect length for a girl to run her fingers through.  He has the face of a pirate, but a badass pirate, a sexy pirate, the kind of pirate who steals from evil kings to give to suffering peasants and makes any soldiers he finds walk the plank with a cutlass at their backs.

Seeming to sense Emma’s eyes on him, the man turns to face her.  He looks her up and down appraisingly, then winks, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine.

And Belle says in a small voice, “I forgot to mention that he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

Wait.  Shit.  _That’s_ him?

“Is it too late to get a different man?” Emma whispers hoarsely.

* * *

**ii.**

Someone has been smuggling alcohol.

Emma doesn’t know who did it or how he (or she) managed it, but there is illegal booze aboard her ship, and it didn’t come from her.  She began to suspect the treachery when she found a suspiciously empty bottle in the rec room, and then she noticed a couple of yeoman quickly ending their conversation when she walked by, and then she caught a whiff of whiskey in one of the less-used bathrooms, and then August (one of her best ensigns, but not the best at following the rules) showed up to his ship drunk, and ... Well, there isn’t much else it could be.

She’s more pissed off than anything else, to be honest – one of her most important goals as captain was to run a tight ship, never breaking protocol, and here she is with an alcohol smuggling operation her first year out.  To any higher-up in Starfleet command, Emma would seem just plain sloppy, and that’s definitely not a good trait for one of the only two female captains in the fleet to have.

This thing needs to end, not only for the sake of Emma’s reputation but because she simply cannot afford to place the lives of her crew in the hands of drunken idiots.

So, when she can make time in her busy schedule, she spends a few hours quietly investigating.  She looks up financial records; she pores over recreation attendance logs; she researches the specifics of brewing liquor with Starfleet-regulation replicators.  She even asks Spock, from the Enterprise, for help; initially, she asks because he’s good at analyzing data and finding the logical solution to problems and, later, because he admits to a similar problem on his own ship and can use her intuition as much as she can use his logic.

As it turns out, their chief engineers are conspiring together.  They’re using modified replicators on both ships to produce alcohol, which they sell to their respective crewmembers, then share the profits.  Go figure.

Killian Jones is ... Emma’s not entirely sure what to make of him.  He’s a good chief engineer, certainly – he treats the ship as though it’s an extension of himself, always keeping it in the best possible shape – but other than that, he’s a bit of an enigma.  He flirts with her in passing sometimes, winking and coming up with clever innuendos when she gives him an order, but he does the same thing with every other woman on the ship – it’s a sport for him, she supposes.  She’d be angry with him for using women’s reactions as entertainment, but at the same time, he genuinely seems to care – his eyes light up when Belle smiles, or when Ruby laughs, or when Regina cracks just slightly and doesn’t reprimand him too harshly.

Emma doesn’t know how to talk to him outside of orders and protocol, to be honest.

But she can’t afford to look anything less than confident in front of one of her highest-ranking crewmen (especially not one with such a goddamned handsome face) – which is why, when she pulls him aside after one of her senior officer briefing meetings, she has a prepared speech.

“Look,” she says, “I know all about your little moonshine business, and it needs to stop.  Not only does it need to stop, it needs to stop _now_.  I know Jim Kirk might see Starfleet protocol as suggestions, not orders, but I aim to run a tight ship, and I cannot afford to have crewmen losing their concentration and blowing missions because you were giving them booze.  So, end your secret business.  That’s an order.  And if you don’t like it, you know how to access the resignation forms.”

She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at him, daring him to even _think_ about defying orders.

Killian nods, looking down – his big, blue, puppy-dog eyes manage to look guilty, which she hopes isn’t just because he was caught.  “I’m sorry, Captain,” he tells her.  “Really, I am.  I’m not going to try to excuse my actions or say that this whole thing was Scotty’s fault – even if it was, mostly,” – he smiles a little at that, and Emma has a hard time not rolling her eyes – “I’m only going to tell you that I will put an end to it, and I hope you can trust me as an officer after this.”

His sincerity surprises her, but not – not in a bad way.  “I believe in second chances.  Don’t fuck up yours,” she tells him simply.

Emma’s turning to head up to the bridge when he calls her back.  “Captain, one more thing!”

“Yes?”

Killian takes a deep breath, then says, “Ah, there may be ... Well, permission to explain why I agreed to the whole thing with Scotty?  Besides the obvious need to uphold my reputation as a troublemaker and this crew’s desire for cheap liquor, of course,” he adds after a moment, grinning cheekily.

Emma has a mission to oversee, departments to run, and orders to give, but she can spare a few moments.  (Maybe she’s curious.)  “What is it, Lieutenant?” she asks.

“To be frank, Captain,” he replies, “I’m bored on this ship.  Not that you aren’t a good captain, because you are – it’s just that, well, I may be in charge of engines and gears, but that doesn’t mean I have no field experience.  I’d like to get out more, on away missions, if I can be useful.  Or at least ask me to help with planning, instead of just briefing me with everyone else.  I can think of half a dozen more efficient ways to plan that schedule you were explaining today, for example.  And – um.”

The engineer pauses to look at his captain, gauging her reaction.  He runs a hand through his hair and it occurs to her that he’s nervous – and that this is the longest conversation the two of them have had since his initial interview.

Killian Jones is more than just a good engineer, Emma is realizing.  He cares about his ship and the people on it.  Here he is, confronted with an illegal booze-selling operation, and instead of just apologizing and staying out of Emma’s way, he’s asking for more responsibility.  She can’t remember the last time someone requested to be put on more away missions, and it’s kind-of refreshing.  It’s good.

Emma nods, before he worries that she’s been silent for too long.  “That actually makes a lot of sense,” she says.  “I’ll take your requests into consideration.”

A smile spreads across his face like sunlight bouncing across the ocean on a clear day, bright and shining.  (And maybe a little endearing.)  “Thank you, Captain.”

“Oh, you can call me Emma,” she corrects him.  “All of the other senior officers do.”

“Thank you, _Emma_ ,” he repeats.

Her name sounds different in his Irish drawl – he pronounces it slowly, carefully enough that each individual letter is audible.  With most people, her name is quick and fleeting, but with him, it’s something special.  Something awe-inspiring.  Something brilliant.

(She likes it – perhaps more than she should.)

* * *

  **(interlude – ii.5.**

And somewhere along the line, she begins meeting with him, even when it’s not official ship business.  She begins looking for him in the mess hall, finding him on shore leave, knocking on his door late at night when she needs to make a difficult decision.  His exterior may be cocky and irritating, face of a pirate demeanor of a flirt, but he’s smarter than he lets on and he’s always honest with her, when she really needs it.

It scares her – _he_ scares her – and she almost wishes she could get a different chief engineer, one who doesn’t laugh at her jokes and call her out on her bad plans and dare her to do better.  She almost wishes she could be peacefully rid of him, because – because this is a starship, people die on missions – she’s never had a friend quite like this before and she doesn’t want to lose him.)

* * *

**iii.**

The ambush was completely unexpected.

It was supposed to be a fairly safe, routine mission: deliver new tech to a recent addition to the Federation, a level five planet in a system a few days’ journey out that had qualified for Federation assistance with its municipal technology.  But, of course, a rebel group that wanted autonomy for their planet just _had_ to attack the away team, primitive rifles firing away at a five-person Starfleet team plus twenty civilians with no security detail and only two hidden phasers.

Some captains would panic and forget all of their training, fire at will, accidentally get an innocent civilian killed, and ruin relations with a new Federation planet.  The tunnels beneath the city in which they’re installing a generator are close, cramped, and easy to get lost in – easy to stage an ambush, and even easier to make a mistake that completely fucks everything up.

Fortunately, Emma is not just some Starfleet captain – she spent two years as an ensign on the Enterprise, and she learned that captains have to be prepared for anything.  Within seconds of the first shot fired, she’s already pulling out her phaser, tossing it to Ruby (who is a. less likely to be seen as a direct threat and b. a better shot), calculating the best defensive positions around the tunnel, barking out orders to her team, and calling for back-up.

“Lucas and Fa, phasers set to stun, hold fire for now.  Everyone else, take cover behind those storage bins, prepare to be beamed up.  Especially you, Jones – you go up first.  Swan to Storybrooke – start beaming up crew and civilians, and I need a security detail on the double, we’ve got trouble.  Mills, do you copy?”

Emma doesn’t get a chance to make sure her orders are being followed – besides quick words of acknowledgement from Regina, Ruby, and Mulan, she’s too focused on the task at hand: peacefully convince the rebels to stand down before they injure her team.  (Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have Belle and her indestructible combination of language and diplomacy skills down here right now.)

So, she takes a deep breath, faces the passageway where the shooters are hiding, and speaks clearly, calmly, and (hopefully) convincingly.

“My name is Captain Emma Swan of the starship Storybrooke in the fleet of the United Federation of Planets, and these are my crewmembers, Lieutenant Mulan Fa and Yeoman Ruby Lucas.  We come in peace, bringing equipment for a generator that will provide electricity to your entire planet.  We only seek to help you, I promise.”

The rebels seem to be letting up their fire, at least for the moment.  And Emma is calm, she is prepared, she is a starship captain and she can deal with this.

She continues, “Now, if you could please put your weapons down and let us help –”

_BANG!_

The rifle goes off, too quickly for Emma to dodge, but slowly enough for someone to –

_THUD!_

– shield her with his body.

Wait, _his_?  The only other crewmembers left on the planet were ...

Oh, shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Motherfucking goddamn _shit_.  She forgot that – Killian’s the fucking chief engineer, he doesn’t usually go on away missions, just helps plan them – of course he has a fucking hero complex, of _course_ he’d jump in front of a fucking bullet for her – that fucking _idiot_.

And he’s bleeding, bleeding from the stomach – and her gold command shirt is staining red – and she screams into her comm to beam her and Jones up _immediately, do you fuckers copy_ – and she’s trusting Ruby and Mulan and the newly arrived security detail (and Regina, apparently, and the captain and XO really should not be in a firefight at the same time, like seriously can nobody fucking follow orders today) to fire, fire _now_ , for fuck’s sake don’t kill them but show _no mercy_ – and she’s beaming up, holding onto him as though he’ll die if she doesn’t let go and fucking _shit_ that bullet was for her – and honestly, why the hell did she have to pick a self-sacrificing nincompoop for a chief engineer, _why_.

“Why the hell didn’t you beam him up when I told you to?” Emma snaps at the ensign manning the transporter pad.

“Um, he – he ordered me not to,” he stammers, and she rolls her eyes, remembers his face – she’ll deal with him later, right now she has a bleeding idiot to save (so that she can kill him immediately afterwards for disobeying her, of course.)

Ariel meets her halfway to the med bay, and between the two of them it isn’t difficult to haul Killian onto Whale’s operating cot.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” the doctor says, face too white and eyes too wide.  “That fucking _idiot_ ,” he adds, in a whisper with a too high scared-to-angry ratio for Emma’s comfort.

“Indeed,” she agrees curtly.  “Let me know when you’re finished patching him up, and again when he wakes up.”

Emma can’t breathe until she gets the first message, and can’t concentrate until she gets the second.  It takes her a full hour to make a short report to Starfleet command about what happened when it really should take her five minutes – but she keeps seeing him on that cot, his so pale and so still when he should be grinning and winking and making entirely inappropriate comments.  (She chooses not to dwell on what this concern means – she tells herself it’s just that she doesn’t want to lose a crewmember, and good engineers are hard to come by, and that’s enough to fool herself, for today at least.)

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” is the first thing she says when she bursts into the med bay a few minutes after getting Whale’s second message.  “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Killian grins cheekily (thank God, a small piece of her thinks, definitely not wondering if she could’ve lived without that smile) and replies, “I’m glad you have so much concern for my safety, Captain.”

Emma glares at him, still more pissed than anything else.  “No, Jones, I have concern for my ship.  As chief engineer, you’re one of the most valuable crewmembers on the ship, and should have beamed up when I ordered you to.”

“What, more valuable than you are?” he retorts.

She steps closer, leans down, and smacks him right across the face.

“Ow!  What the hell was that for?” he complains.

“Captain, are you injuring my patient?” Whale chimes in from his office.

“He deserved it,” Emma calls back.  “You _did_ ,” she adds before Killian can protest.  “Don’t disobey my orders.  It’s _my_ job to decide who on this ship is more valuable than whom, not yours.  Got it?”

She stares at him, daring him to challenge her.  After half a minute of a glaring contest (that does not turn her on in the _slightest_ ) he sighs and capitulates.  “Got it.”

“Good.”  With that, Emma turns on her heel and strides out of the room.

But, of course, Killian always has to get the last word.

“You’re welcome, by the way.  You know, for saving your life.”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

* * *

**iv.**

Ruby announces herself at the bar with a loud groan, slams her head down onto the polished wood.

“Hey, Ruby,” Emma greets her.  “What’s wrong?”  She gives the other woman a nudge with her whiskey bottle, in case her voice wasn’t audible above the cacophony already in full swing.  The Enterprise is leaving for its second five-year mission tomorrow (seriously, its second in ten years, Emma is going to murder Jim Kirk and take his ship one day) and its captain is having a party to celebrate.  Emma isn’t honestly the biggest fan of parties – she’s more of a go out alone, get really drunk, and forget everything the next morning kind of girl, if she goes out at all – but her crew is here, and someone’s got to keep them all in check.

Ruby grabs the bottle and drains the rest of Emma’s Jack Daniels before replying, “Emma, I have a problem.  A huge problem.  A problem so problematic it threatens the stability of the world as we know it.  As we know it, Emma!”

Admittedly, Ruby has a tendency to the overdramatic, and is probably more than slightly intoxicated, but Emma’s still concerned.  “What is it?”

“The entire crew of the USS Enterprise is gay!  Or taken!  Or both!”

Oh.  So, not that concerning, then.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Emma says in what she hopes is a soothing voice.

“Oh, but it is.”  Ruby picks her head up and glares around the apartment, pointing at accusing Enterprise crewmen in turn.  “Kirk’s gay, Spock’s gay, McCoy’s taken, Scotty’s gay, Sulu and Chekov are adorably, horribly gay _together_ , Mitchell’s taken, Riley’s taken ... What’s the point of all of these hot guys if I can’t fuck any of them?”

Now that Emma thinks about it, Ruby has a point.  But still, she can’t keep going on like this, or she’ll punch someone in the face for being gay and their whole crew will have to get the Disrespecting Minorities and their Lifestyle Choices lecture.  Again.

“Jim’s not gay – he’s, like, omnisexual or something,” she points out.

“Yeah, but he’s practically married to Spock, so,” Ruby counters.

“Did I hear you lovely ladies talking about me?”

Speak of the devil – Jim Kirk himself is standing behind them, smirking as though he just had a bit of a “private conference” with Spock in the bathroom (which, going by the state of his clothes, isn’t entirely impossible.)

“Yeah, we were,” Ruby tells him matter-of-factly.  “I was lamenting the fact that your whole crew is gay or taken or both.”

Jim doesn’t seem annoyed by the remark – if anything, he finds it hilarious.  He scans the room, similarly to what Ruby did earlier (although with significantly less aggression.)  “I guess they are,” he says after a minute – and then, looking back at Ruby, “ _Doctor Whale_ isn’t gay or taken, though.”

Ruby’s mouth opens in a small o – she glances to Whale, talking animatedly with Doctor McCoy, then back to Jim.

“You make a compelling argument,” she tells him, and then gets up.

Huh.  Ruby and Whale.  Emma’s suspected that one for a while, actually, but she never thought of pushing Ruby to notice herself.

“Never thought you were the matchmaking type,” she says to her cousin.

He shrugs.  “I’m growing romantic in my old age, I guess.”

She accepts the answer, and he sits down next to her, pours himself some Romulan ale.  Jim’s an asshole, sure, and Emma would kill to get the kind of missions he does, but he’s also her cousin; they grew up together to some degree – Jim would sometimes show up at her house when Frank was being too much of a jerk, and they always hid out together during uncomfortable family reunions.  (Hid out, or played pranks on their relatives.  They’ve both got more Winona in them than she cares to admit.)  They understand each other, Emma and Jim – can sit in silence for hours without it getting awkward, or challenge each other to violent video game brawls without having to explain why, or confess fears nobody else can know.  Jim is the only person Emma’s never lied to.

So when he says, all too casually, “So, speaking of matchmaking, what about you and that Jones guy?  I was talking to him earlier, and he literally mentions you, like, every other sentence.  He’s the one Scotty was running that booze smuggling thing with, right?” she doesn’t deny anything.  She doesn’t say anything, but, well – maybe she looks down, maybe she grips her whiskey tighter, maybe she flushes, just slightly.

He grins.  “Thought so.”

And a moment later, he gets up – quickly replaced by Killian, hands in his jacket pockets (his favorite long, leather jacket over a white button-down with four buttons undone, which really should not be allowed.)

She eyes him critically, masking the crescendo of her heart.  “I thought you were having a drinking contest with Scotty.”

“Well, I _was_ ,” he explains, “but Chekov – the self-appointed judge – quit, so Scotty and I called it a tie and he went off to snog McCoy, who is apparently now his boyfriend, or something.”

She laughs and murmurs, “They really _are_ all gay, taken, or both on that ship.”

_(But not on this one.)_

Killian takes a step closer and puts out his hand.  “So,” he says, voice low eyes shining, “may I have the honor of this dance, milady?”

Well.  It’s a party, she’s a bit drunk, it can’t really hurt.  Just ... a dance.  Nothing more.

She takes his hand.

Of course (of _course_ ) he turns out to be a good dancer.  The music blasting in the apartment is loud and throbbing, something electronic that calls for brash movement to match its brash melodies.  Killian moves with it – moves with _her_ – closing his eyes and stepping, pressing, twisting.  His hands are on her hips, fingers splayed tightly against the bones of her back, and she can feel more than see the muscles of his arms and chest, taut and powerful as he sheds his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, grabs her tight with no intention of ever letting go.

She loses herself in the music, the moment, _him_ – forgets that they’re at a party and half her crew is watching and she has a fucking reputation to uphold.  Forgets until their foreheads are pressed together – he’s only inches away.

He leans in almost unconsciously – she remembers with a jolt – she shoves her hands against his chest – she gets away as quickly as possible with no chance for an explanation.

God, and _everyone_ saw that.  Emma hasn’t been this embarrassed since her mother caught her exploring the stranger parts of the Internet back in high school.

She wishes she could just ask for a new chief engineer and be rid of Killian (and her increasingly-difficult-to-ignore feelings for him.)  But Starfleet won’t buy “he’s really attractive but I can’t be in a relationship with him” as a valid excuse for a transfer, so here she is.  Stuck.

* * *

**v.**

Three weeks into their next mission, a diplomatic scouting trip to check on some Federation outposts near the neutral zone, Emma calls a Ladies’ Meeting.  (Or, well, rearranges the schedules so that all of the ladies are on break at the same time, but that’s just semantics.)

“Guys, I need help,” Emma admits.

“With what?” Belle asks before she can go on.  “Book recommendations?  Because I just read this historical mystery thriller that you would absolutely _love_ –”

“No, you idiot,” Regina interrupts.  “This is about our one and only Chief Engineer Jones.”

“It is?”  Belle glances at Emma, questioning.

“Don’t tell me I’m _wrong_.”  Regina rolls her eyes.

Emma sighs – of course Regina isn’t wrong, she’s _never_ wrong, that’s why Emma made her first officer.

The woman observes her captain’s resigned expression, then triumphantly says, “See?  Told you.  You weren’t at the party a few weeks ago – the way they were dancing, it was like sex in public.  Mortifying to even watch.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Emma protests.  (Well, okay, maybe it was, but she still has a few shreds of dignity left, and she’d like to preserve them while she can.)

“Yes, it was,” Regina replies.  “Seriously, if you and that smug bastard of a red shirt don’t hook up soon, I _will_ lock you in a closet somewhere until it happens.”

“But I _can’t_ hook up with him, that’s the problem.”

“Why the hell not?”

Wait ... What?  Regina’s just as career-driven as Emma is, Emma thought she’d understand.

“It’s ... It’s against protocol,” she says, earning her a collective snort of disapproval.

“I’m in an almost monogamous relationship with Victor, and you haven’t called protocol on me,” Ruby points out.

“Yeah, but I’m a captain, I have a reputation –”

Belle cuts her off.  “Right, like your cousin isn’t basically married to his first officer.”

“But he’s saved the Federation, like, three times, he can afford to bend the rules a bit.”  Her protests are beginning to sound weak, but Emma’s not about to give up.  “ _I’m_ still pretty new – I can’t let myself get emotionally compromised.”

The others – Emma’s fellow crewwomen, friends, all people she’d trust with her life – stare at her as though she’s completely insane.  Which she isn’t.  Definitely.  (Right?)

“But ... You _do_ like him, right?” Aurora asks slowly.

It shouldn’t a question for Emma to answer, but for some reason, it is.  (Maybe because she’s been focusing too much on practicalities instead of emotions, a little voice inside her suggests, but she ignores it.)

“Yes,” Emma says.  “No.  Well, maybe a little.  I don’t know.”  She presses her hand to her forehead, trying so incredibly hard not to clam up and sprint out the door.  (Where the hell would she go anyway, this is _her_ quarters, for fuck’s sake.)

Aurora takes her answer, examines it carefully, translates it.

“So, you love him.”

Emma shrugs, looks away, flushes bright red (redder than a red shirt.)  It’s one thing to know what she feels but smother it in denial – hearing Aurora say it out loud, state it matter-of-factly the way she would state a figure about their next mission, is something else entirely.

“Well, in that case,” the woman says to her captain, “you should tell him.”

Around Emma, her crewwomen nod, one by one.

She stares at each of them in turn for a moment, then sighs, resting her head on her arms to muffle her voice.  (She can fool herself into believing they can’t hear, but of course they will.)

“I just ... I called you all in here to help me get _rid_ of my feelings for him, not act on them.  Why couldn’t he just be the chief engineer of someone _else’s_ ship?”

“Because he’s the chief engineer of yours,” Belle says.  “You know he’d never agree to a transfer.”

“Killian would never abandon you,” Ariel chips in.  “You’re the most important person in his life.”

Even Mulan, who doesn’t usually contribute much at these meetings, speaks up.  “If you don’t tell him, you’re hurting him, as well as yourself.”

“But ... my reputation ... protocol ...” Emma says weakly.

“Those admiralty big-shots can all fuck themselves in the ass, for all I care,” Ruby replies.  “They don’t know what you do off-duty, on your own goddamn ship.”

“And don’t you _dare_ pull out any ‘emotionally compromised’ bullshit,” Regina adds.  “You’ll work better when you’re finally having sex with him than in this horrible sexual tension field that you two generate every time you so much as _look_ at each other.”

With such a barrage of opposition from all sides, it’s suddenly hard to remember why Emma was arguing in the first place.  She can’t think straight, much less open her mouth to –

_Thud. Thud.  Thud._

Someone’s at the door, and only one man on the entire ship knocks instead of using the Starfleet-regulation doorbells.

Emma glares all of her friends into silence (she’s got her wits back and she’s still their captain, even when they’re yelling at her.)  She gets up, opens the door, and faces the subject of her inner turmoil, looking at her as though she’s some kind of angel sent from the heavens.  (Has he always looked at her like this?  Has it always made her heart threaten to race right out of her chest?  God _damn_ it.)

“Jones,” she says.

“Captain, I’m sorry to bother you,” he replies, “but I could use your help in the engine room.  There’s a circuit broken, and my hands are too big to fit in between wires to repair it ...”

Killian wiggles his fingers in the air, raising an eyebrow suggestively.  (Is she going to think about what _else_ he could do with his fingers?  No, she is not.)

“Yes, alright.  Sure.”

Her ship needs a hand, Emma tells herself as she follows him into the corridor.  She’s just going to help out.

(And if she catches a glimpse of Ruby winking at her and Regina mouthing, “Tell him,” she can ignore it.)

* * *

**i.**

This was supposed to be easy.

Emma would just help Killian with this one problem, get back to her room, and tell her friends to shut it.  This is _her_ life, _her_ reputation as an honorable captain at stake, and she is not going to let some sweet-talking engineer change that, no matter how attractive he is.  (No matter how much she wants to hear his smooth, deep voice brush like velvet against her ear, no matter how much she wants to trace the charcoal machinery stains on his too-sharp cheekbones with her fingertips, no matter how much she wants to taste those lips, intoxicating as they form syllables and words and sentences, promising sweetness beyond anything she’s ever known.)

“Captain Swan?” he asks, interrupting her (extremely uncalled for) fantasy.  “Do you know what to do?”

“Um ...”  Shit, she was supposed to be _listening_ to him, not thinking about how she’s alone with him in this huge engine room and it would be so easy to – yeah.  She has a problem.

“Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute.  Could you say that again?”

He explains – one of the wires on a circuit running from the dilithium crystals to the ship’s main power grid has overheated, and he needs her to hold apart a couple of the surrounding wires so that he can replace the burned one.  If they don’t do it soon, half the ship could lose electricity.

“Why didn’t you ask one of the ensigns to do this?” Emma wonders.  She reaches into the panel and looks for the right wires (a blue one and a green one, he said.)

“Well, normally I would,” Killian replies, “but like I said, this is a job for delicate fingers, and all of the ladies are on break.”

“So, you went to the captain instead.”

“I knew you’d always be willing to do whatever was necessary to save the ship,” he says – and he glances at her, eyes open and so very blue, and she can’t help wondering what _he_ would be willing to do to save the ship (what he would be willing to do to save _her_.)

They work in silence after that: she finds the wires and holds them apart carefully while he reaches in with a pair of pliers to pluck out the burned piece and replace it, then seal the ends with some moldable polymer.  It’s a stressful process – one wrong move and they could electrocute themselves, or worse, half the ship – but with Killian, it’s easy.  (She always feels safer with him, even if it’s just knowing that he’s on the ship, watching her back – and she pointedly doesn’t look at him until the repair is finished.)

He stands and steps back, admiring their work, then offers a hand to help her up.  She takes it, tries to pretend she doesn’t feel the spark running up her arm, but this is getting harder every second.  Emma knows she should leave, but.  But.

“We make a great team,” Killian says.

And – Wait.  Why does he sound so sad?  What ... ?

“Captain, I have to admit, there’s another reason I asked you to help me with this,” he continues (and something inside her freezes.)  “Truth be told, I’ve been looking for a good excuse to talk to you all week, because I didn’t want to call a meeting without reason.”

“Why?” she demands.  “What is it?”

“Emma – Captain – _Emma_ , I – I want a transfer.”

All this time she spent wishing he’d get off of her ship, and now he’s offering, and suddenly she’s not so sure a new chief engineer is what she wants.

Emma steps closer to him – close enough that she could kiss him if she wanted – and stares straight into his sea-blue eyes.

“Why?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

He glances down (away.)  “Because ... I can’t stay here.  I’m ... What does it say in the rule book?  Emotionally compromised.  To be a good engineer, I should always put the ship, the crew, the fleet first – but I can’t.  Everything I do, every decision I make ... It’s all for you.  I’m sorry, but I can’t hide it any more.  I love you, Emma.  I know you can take care of yourself, I know you’re the captain and you out-rank me in so many ways, but I want to protect you, and I just –”

His voice breaks, and she doesn’t know what to do.

She’s known – some part of her has known how he feels for a long time, just as she’s known that she feels the same – but it’s completely different to hear him confess everything out loud, in tangible words that form in the air and land on the floor beneath Emma’s feet.

And she’s about to lose him.

“So that’s why I have to transfer,” he says, so quiet and so broken.  “I can’t have you ... Clouding my judgment any more.”

And she remembers holding him in her arms, screaming for him not to die for her – this is the same, but it’s worse, because he loves her and he wants to leave her but he _can’t_ , she doesn’t want a ship if she can’t see him smile.  (He makes her believe that she can do anything.)

All of her friends’ words come back to her in a rush, fogging up her mind with _you’re being stupid_ and _if you don’t hook up with him, I’ll lock the two of you in a closet_ and _if you don’t tell him, you’re hurting him, as well as yourself._

Well.  Good engineers are hard to come by.

She surges forward and captures his lips with hers.  It takes him a moment to react, to respond, but soon enough he’s moving against her, hand reaching for her hair and mouth opening to let her in.  He tastes of rum and salt and something almost burnt, but his touch ignites a fire in her and god _damn_ why didn’t she do this the first time she saw him.

“You are _not leaving_ ,” she orders, pulling back only to press her forehead against his.

“Oh, really?” he replies.  But he’s smiling, open and honest and not quite like anything she’s ever seen before.

“Yeah.  That’s an order.”  And maybe she’s smiling, too, but she doesn’t really care at this point.

“But you ... You’re a captain, and ... Fleet protocol, and ... Is this okay?”

Strange, that her fears from earlier seem so irrelevant now.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching up to put her arms around his neck.  “Screw the admiralty.  What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

He leans in to kiss her again, fire and sunlight and a thousand other perfect things.

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t want me to leave?” he murmurs against her lips, teasing now but with an edge of disbelief that leaves her so giddy, so sure this was the right choice.

“Want me to show you just _how_ sure?”

He laughs as she pulls him in closer.

* * *

  **bonus – ii.**

_From the PADD of Captain Emma Swan, Stardate 42855, 2200 hours._

_Jim:_ so lil cuz, whats it like 2 break starfleet protocol in the privacy of ur own bedroom?

_Emma:_ I have no idea what you’re talking about.

_Jim:_ plz.  scottys the biggest gossip on this side of neutral space – did u rlly think hed keep a juicy tidbit like rules  & regulations emma getting emotionally compromised from me?

_Emma:_ That bastard!  I told him not to tell anyone!

_Jim:_ just 1 of the many perks of fucking a fellow officer.  is the sex good, at least?

_Emma:_ ... Yeah.  Yeah, Killian’s great.

_Jim_ : niiiiiice.  could i maybe borrow him for a night? ;)

_Emma:_ No way in hell!

_Jim:_ as u wish

 

_0100 hours._

_Emma:_ You won’t ... tell the Admiralty, right?

_Jim:_ emma what kind of a man do u take me 4???  and anyway, u shouldn’t give a shit what the admiralty thinks of u.  just fuck the man.  fuck him harder better faster stronger.  i dARE YOU TO DO BETTER EMMA SWAN.  U ARE A GOOD CAPTAIN AND U CAN DO BETTER.  GO WITH YOUR  <3 NOT YOUR LOGIC.  BE LIKE ME, NOT SPOCK.  (except with the fucking.  spock is good at the fucking.  u can maybe ask him for tips.  or ur engineer can, whatever)

_Emma:_ That wasn’t really what I was asking for, but thanks.

_Jim:_ anything for my favorite cousin  <3


End file.
